Columbia University is still dealing with the controversy surrounding a protest that happened last fall, when College Republicans invited representatives of the Minutemen to speak on illegal immigration. Instead of engaging in discussion, a mob of students physically drove away an anti-open-borders speaker. In other words, the cliché holds true: Students who deviate from the politically correct norm don’t fare well in many New York area colleges.

In 1996, I learned this the hard way. I had attended a Christian college in Tennessee, David Lipscomb University. Lipscomb imposed curfews; mandatory courses on the texts of the early Church and a dress code that drew a line just above the knee. Bible classes and dress codes. If a student missed chapel, the dean of students took away scholarships and suspended privileges, which meant, effectively, that you were grounded to your dormitory. The theology demanded that women not lead prayer, or even speak in chapel, let alone become ministers or preachers.

Since I was a firm believer in economic equality for women, I wanted to be at a university where I could explore such subjects with an open mind. When my boyfriend proposed, I said that I would marry him — and that I hoped we would move somewhere quite different from Nashville. We were soon on our way to New York — and, we thought, a new, broader, intellectual life.

But my new college, New York University, wasn’t exactly open-minded. My classmates were the first critics. They saw me as an exotic species: a Southerner who had yet to enjoy the benefits of women’s liberation. Their suspicions were directed toward my husband: Does he make you wash dishes? Yes. Did you take his last name? Yes.

Over the course of several weeks and months, they explained that I had been victimized by the patriarchy, that I was a heterosexist, and probably a little racist to boot. Mostly, though, they represented that I was imprisoned in a birdcage of missed opportunities. I might not realize this, but this was because I had never known freedom. Nearly all these advisers were females, mostly from the New York area, but there was one male.

I thought things might get better, but they got worse. Everything about me was unacceptable. My Christianity was offensive because of its assertion that God is male. My highlighted hair was just another indication of my subservience to men. I thought we could bond over the “economic gap,” but then I realized this supposed economic disparity between the genders didn’t take into account men’s frequency of higher paying, more dangerous jobs like construction and roofing. Nor did arguments attacking the wage gap take into account the length of time in the workplace, experience, or age. Everyone was so upset about many women staying home with children which necessarily produces income disparity. I planned to stay home with my future kids.

I was a philosophy major and made the perhaps questionable decision to sign up for a class in my major called “The Philosophy of Sex.” There life was especially hard. It was hard for me to conjure the righteous indignation required to pass muster.

One particularly disturbing day, my professor said, “All of you who are victims of rape or attempted rape raise your hands.” As more than half the class raised their hands, I began to think weird thoughts. I wondered if my college required a solid SAT score and emergency room records for admission.

It took me weeks to realize their definition of rape was not exactly Webster’s. We began to study Andrea Dworkin who said, “Romance is rape embellished with meaningful looks.” And Catherine MacKinnon who said, “Politically, I call it rape whenever a woman has sex and feels violated.” And Marilyn French, who famously said, “All men are rapists and that’s all they are.” You can imagine my disillusionment to learn Mister Rogers of “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood,” and Mahatma Gandhi were predators.

None of this was ever challenged by my classmates, who grew impatient at my perpetual confusion. Once, when I said I was against abortion, several students wept before storming out of the class. The rest accused me of being a “cafeteria-style” feminist, a traitor to my gender. In other words, my college was not the place to “explore feminism,” but was rather a “feminism bootcamp” and unbelievers were not tolerated. What I kept wondering was: who were these people?

Only in college can a woman with a Gramercy apartment, private education, and a large Bloomingdale’s account be described as a member of an oppressed class. My fellow classmates and I had more freedom, more opportunities, and more equality than any other women who’ve lived on this planet. And I grew tired of being told otherwise, tired of the unwillingness of the professors and students to engage in true debate about the tenets of their belief systems. I found myself practicing my religion more seriously than before. Eventually, I wrote a book about the whole thing.

I’m hoping that NYU is better these days. But colleges generally are not. Every week I read stories like mine of another university. The Columbia case is just the latest example of this secular fundamentalism and intolerance. There is still hostility to true free speech. To put it bluntly, the highly touted diversity of these colleges is superficial. Some students wear dreadlocks, some have red hair, and some are Chinese, but students are “encouraged” to think identically. The only surprising aspect of all this is that there are some students who do not know it yet.

Mrs. French, not to be confused with Marilyn French, is the author of “Red State of Mind: How a Catfish Queen Reject Became a Liberty Belle” (Hachette).